The Truth of the Matter
by PandoraSilk
Summary: An unfortunate potions accident leaves Harry free of inhibition and forced to tell the truth, no matter the consequences.
1. Chapter 1

All Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

This story is a response to another challenge fest at Potions and Snitches.

**2010 Challenge Fest Entry. Response to Another Potions Accident by Ebbtide.**

I'm sorry for falling behind on my other two stories, but I promise I will update soon.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, ObsidianEmbrace, and to my good friend Kristeh. Both are always there to offer words of support and encouragement, and bounce ideas off of.

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Vincent Crabbe smushed the last bite of his chocolate-sprinkled cupcake into his already full mouth, and stared at the blond-haired boy in confusion.

"But what does Granger have to do with this?"

Draco scowled. "Just do as you're told, Crabbe. Now come on," he said, grabbing the larger boy's forearm, and dragging him along down the corridor, towards the Potions classroom.

Goyle scuttled along after them, dropping his satchel in the process. His face flushed a deep scarlet, as he attempted to bend down to scoop up his quills and parchment, which had spilled from his bag.

"Goyle," Draco hissed, "you are such an imbecile." He rolled his eyes and loosened his grip on Crabbe's arm, as he inconspicuously waved his wand and returned the contents back into Goyle's bag. Magic was not actually allowed in the corridors, dormitories, or anywhere other than under the direct supervision of a Professor. Most students, however, flouted the rule, and most of the Professors turned a blind eye to it, with the exception of Snape.

Managing Slytherin House—a House comprised of over eighty-percent of Death Eater's children—presented many challenges. It required a strong Head of House, who could provide a balance of firm discipline, an understanding of the obstacles and prejudices that the children of his House would face, not only with students from the other three Houses, but with the other Professors as well, and a shoulder to cry on. These children also had to contend with strong influence and pressure from their own families to join the Dark Lord's ranks, when they became of age.

They could be an unruly lot, but many were also misunderstood and lost children. Many of the Death Eater parents, in particular, could be harsh and abusive if their high expectations were not met. Some were introduced to Dark Magic at a young age, and lacked any moral foundation from their parents.

If there was one man who could fully provide that balance of firm guidance, understanding and a strong shoulder to lean on, it was Severus Snape.

Though none of his House knew where his real loyalties lay, he managed to keep them in line, and safe, while making them feel special and favoured, by always providing them with structure and dignity. He would never reprimand one of his Snakes in front of other students, or even in front of other Professors, but he expected obedience, respect and rigid adherence to his House rules.

One of Snape's strictest rules, as a matter of fact, was that his students were not allowed to use magic in the hallways, under the pretence that it was for their own protection, since Slytherins always bore the burden of guilt in any altercation that might occur between the Houses.

Secretly, Snape knew how volatile his Snakes were, and he had to contain them as much as he could, to avoid mayhem in the hallways.

"Come on, you two," Draco snapped. "You remember Snape's warning last night about being late to class again."

"So why am I doing this again?" Crabbe whispered.

"Because I told you to," Draco said coldly. "Now be quiet," he shushed the larger boy.

Draco, Vincent and Gregory slipped in the door just as the bell rang.

A raised eyebrow, and a twitch in his jaw was the only sign of Snape's disapproval; that was enough for the three boys to understand Snape's unspoken warning.

They slipped quietly into their respective seats; Goyle and Crabbe sat together, at the table next to Hermione Granger and Parvati Patil. Draco sat down next to Pansy, nodding conspiratorially at Crabbe as he did so.

As usual, the minute that Snape's sweeping robes crossed the threshold, all chatter ceased, so Draco dared not chance a word to his House-mate, under his Head of House's watchful eye.

With a swish of his wand, Snape's spidery scrawl appeared on the board in the front of the classroom.

After ensuring that the instructions were written out to his satisfaction, Snape turned around to address the class with a stern expression.

"You have one hour to complete the potion. We will be preparing a variation on a sixth year potion, called Veritaserum-"

Black eyes glittered with malice, and every head in the classroom spun around as the creaking of hinges echoed off the walls of the silent classroom.

"Mr. Potter, how very nice of you to join us," Snape said in a dangerous voice. "Five points from Gryffindor-" he traced his thin lips with his long potion-stained fingernail, "-and...I believe detention is in order as well."

Harry gritted his teeth, and slipped into the seat beside Ron; as he did so, his bandaged arm brushed against the sharp corner of the desk, and he winced. Harry shivered when he remembered the thin edge of Wormtail's blade slicing through his tender skin-and Voldemort's high-pitched cackle, as it sent shivers dancing up his spine.

Draco snickered. Serves Saint Potter right, he though maliciously. The prat thought that he could do whatever he wanted, and received praise that he didn't deserve. But it was his little show-off friend that held Draco's attention today. Father had made it very clear that he would not tolerate anything less than him being in the top of his year, but time and time again, that little Mudblood showed him up. Well, not this time, he vowed. If Crabbe did what he was told, the perfect little know-it-all, would look like a fool, when her Potion turned a muddy brown, instead of crystal clear and odourless as was called for, making her finally look incompetent. He could not, and would not, face his father's wrath again this term, when he failed to meet his high expectations.

Draco held his breath as he saw Crabbe lean over. He swiped at the stray strands of blond hair, plastered to his brow. He loosened his tie slightly; the heavy scent of potions fumes hung in the air, tickling his nostrils.

Draco looked down in satisfaction as he ground up his Spine of Lionfish into a fine powder, and added it to the potion. Next, he added one ounce of Dragon blood, one Puffer-Fish Eye, and prepared to add the last ingredient—the Belladonna. As the potion continued to brew for its allotted time period, Draco felt a surge of relief; his potion looked perfect; the texture, the colour—Professor Snape would not be able to find fault with it. Granger's potion, however...well, let's just say, that for once Snape would have valid reason to bring the insufferable know-it-all down a peg.

He was anxious to see the smug look of superiority wiped off of Granger's face, when she realised that her perfect potion was anything but. Draco tingled with anticipation as he imagined the look of horror that would wash over the Mudblood's face, when the swishing of Snape's robes would announce that he was coming over to grade them, and that it was too late to salvage her ruined potion.

"Now, I assume that everyone is adding the final ingredient, and then we will allow it to brew for a full-moon cycle to ensure the efficacy of the potion," Snape's silky voice cut through Draco's dark thoughts, "however, I will be grading you on the preparatory stages of the potion, as the brewing cycle will not improve the formulation, for those—" and here he smiled an ugly, twisted smile, while staring straight at Harry, "—incompetent students who continue to produce sub-standard, mediocre results."

Harry dug his nails into the desktop. He wanted to tell the greasy git that by the looks of his clumpy, greasy hair hanging down his ugly face, his _shampoo_ was sub-standard and mediocre.

Draco rotated the ladle clockwise, one more time before he flicked up his golden eyelashes, just in time to see Vincent grab something from his table that definitely did _not_ look like the harmless Doxy eggs that he had told Crabbe to add to Granger's potion to make it turn a muddy brown. _No_! Those looked like Ashwinder eggs...and those would definitely do a lot more than turn the potion dark.

It was like watching a film in slow motion; three things happened in succession-Draco shoved Pansy to the side; a scowl appearing on her pug face, as she was knocked into the cauldron, sloshing potion down the sides in the process; as the clear liquid hit the flame, it hissed and popped. Goyle, who was slightly more cognizant of his surroundings than Crabbe, had noticed Crabbe's blunder, and attempted to grab his mate's pudgy arm, a second too late.

Harry, who, because of his honed Quidditch skills, was trained to detect the slightest movement, had caught out of the corner of his eye, Crabbe's hand hovering over Hermione's cauldron at the next table, and also shoved his partner Ron aside. Harry was not perhaps as skilled in potions as Draco was, but he knew from experience, that it did not bode well when a Slytherin was dropping something into your cauldron.

Snape, in the meantime, had spun around in a swirl of flapping black robes, to witness his best and worst students streaking across the room in panicked desperation. Harry, being the smaller of the two, and faster because of his years spent dodging his uncle and cousin's flailing fists, unfortunately reached the scene first.

Draco's first thought when he saw Potter reach Granger's cauldron, just as it was about to explode, and shove her out of the way, was..."What an idiot Gryffindor," and Harry's last thought before he lost consciousness after he'd been thrown three feet across the room, from the force of the explosion, was how very large, and hairy Snape's nostrils were, as the image of the irate Potions Master, hovered blurrily over him.

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Harry struggled to open his heavy eyelids; bright lights from overhead made it feel as though a thousand daggers were stabbing his eyes. His head was pounding and he generally felt like he'd been run over by a Hippogryph.

"Harry...how are you feeling?" asked a soft voice.

He felt a small hand squeeze his gently, and as he struggled to open his protesting eyelids, he saw Hermione's concerned face leaning closer to him.

"Wow mate, I'm glad that you're okay. I thought you were a goner for sure."

Hermione scowled up at her tall, freckled friend. "Ron! Can't you be more sensitive?"

Ron turned red. "Sorry Harry. I meant, I'm glad that you're not dead. I mean, uh-"

"That's enough Ron," Hermione huffed.

"What he means, Harry, is that we were worried about you, and that we're glad that you're alright."

"What happened?" Harry croaked; his throat felt like sandpaper, and pain jabbed at his temples, as he pushed himself up on his wobbly arms.

Hermione gently pushed him back onto the bed. "Stay there Harry until Madame Pomfrey comes."

"Ron, why don't you go get her," she said, nodding towards the Mediwitch's office.

Ron nodded, and left them alone.

"What happened Hermione? I feel like hell."

Hermione sighed.

"Well, you see...there was a little accident."

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Ron's hand froze on the handle to madame Pomfrey's door.

"I'm afraid the effects of this potion on Potter are simply unknown Headmaster."

Ron pressed his ear up closer to the door.

"But surely you have an idea Severus," Dumbledore's soft voice insisted.

"Normally, true Veritaserum takes a full-moon cycle to brew-for the effects to be at maximum potency, however...with the introduction of a volatile ingredient, such as Ashwinder Eggs, it is possible that the effects of the Veritaserum could be a little skewed; perhaps more potent, or varying the truth-compelling effects of the potion. It is too soon to tell how they will affect Potter."

"Even though he didn't actually ingest the potion orally, he could be affected?"

"Albus, the potion was absorbed through the pores of Potter's skin, fumes breathed in through the throat and nostrils. I would wager that the effects on Potter will be more pronounced than if he'd ingested the recommended phial orally. And the boy's small stature does not bode well."

"So, Harry will be compelled to tell the truth?"

"Potter will not only be compelled to answer questions posed to him truthfully, but he may well feel a strong compunction to reveal his deepest secrets against his own will. In other words, Potter could lose all sense of inhibition and speak whatever thoughts come to his mind. He may lose all power of reasoning and forethought.

Ron's jaw fell. "Oh no," he thought, in horror. "This was bad. Very bad."

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Harry's hand hesitated on the door to the Potion's classroom. This was the first time he'd been back since, the accident, and quite frankly, he wasn't looking forward to it. The incident leading up to the unfortunate series of events that followed, were rather vague and somewhat confusing.

Harry remembered feeling the force of the explosion, but not what caused it. He'd heard rumours that Crabbe and Malfoy were the culprits and that they'd actually received detention till the end of the term. Wonders never ceased; Snape had actually punished his Slytherins. Dumbledore probably gave him an ultimatum, he thought bitterly. After all...purposely introducing a volatile ingredient into another student's cauldron, with the purpose of intending harm, was surely grounds for expulsion? Dumbledore probably told Snape that he'd better discipline the culprits, or they'd be suspended or expelled-at least Harry imagined that that was what had happened. Let's face it, it was no skin off Snape's back, that his most hated student could have been seriously injured, and Snape was probably gloating that he'd finally found a way to force Veritaserum down Harry's throat.

Harry released his hand from the doorknob, and swiped his moist palms against his robes. Since the accident, he mouth had gone amok; he wasn't anxious to spend any more time with Snape than was necessary, for fear of what he'd say. After all, Harry had many secrets, and not all of them involved him sneaking off to Hogsmeade under his invisibility cloak, or Dobby stealing Gillyweed from Snape's Potion storeroom. No, some secrets, were best left hidden.

Harry forced himself to grab the door-handle, and with a large gulp of air, entered the classroom. Harry felt the heat creep up the back of his neck, as curious eyes stared at him.

They had probably heard the rumours that he had no control over his mouth. It was like his lips were disconnected from his brain, and everyone was rather annoyed with him.

Harry looked around the classroom for an empty table. Just as he was about to sit down next to his best buddy Ron, Harry flinched as Ron's book-bag was slammed down with a thud, on the chair beside him, making it perfectly clear that Harry was to find a seat elsewhere. Geesh...Ron had no sense of humour. They were only plastic spiders that Seamus had placed in Ron's bed, after Harry had revealed Ron's deepest secret fear to the whole fourth-year Gryffindor Boy's dormitory.

A glare from Hermione told Harry that she'd not forgiven him either for revealing her little mishap with Polyjuice potion in second year. Harry looked imploringly at good old easy-going Neville; the boy lifted his chin up at Harry and turned his head away; Harry hadn't really meant any harm when he accidently tripped on Trevor's box, releasing the toad into the path of a hungry Crookshanks; Honestly, Neville was just over-reacting. After all, Hermione _did_ come up with a spell that expelled the contents of Crookshank's stomach before any real harm could be done, hadn't she?

Ron and his big mouth. Frankly, Harry should be the one who was upset. At least when he had revealed Ron's secret, it was a by-product of the Veritaserum-Ron on the other hand, revealed Harry's part in Trevor's near-death experience, as revenge for Harry's loose lips.

Harry looked wildly around the room. The only free seat was next to Draco Malfoy. Oh Merlin! He was not going to sit beside that slimy Slytherin-he just wasn't!

"Potter!" Snape barked. "Stop standing there like an idiot and take a seat beside Mr. Malfoy."

Harry scowled at his professor, and then he scowled at Malfoy, but he bit his tongue-literally, to stop himself from telling the greasy git to go to hell.

Harry glared at Malfoy, who surprisingly kept _his _mouth shut.

This was the last class of the term, but of course Snape was determined to make them all work till the last minute.

"Instructions are on the board as usual. There will be no idle chit-chat, and you will each do your share of the work," Snape said while his obsidian eyes were pinned directly on Harry.

Harry gritted his teeth. He wasn't sure how he managed to fight the compulsion to answer back; maybe it had something to do with the sting that blossomed from where he had pinched himself on his arm, to shut himself up.

Harry managed to focus on the potion he was supposed to be preparing, and even managed to work amicably, well as amicably as was possible when partnered with Draco Malfoy.

Harry worked in silence side-by-side with Malfoy, until Snape pronounced that time was up, and he began to sweep through the isles, his long robes, rippling behind him; he sneered and insulted the other House's attempts at Potion-making, while lavishing praise on his Slytherins.

When Snape reached Harry and Draco's table, he peered down his long nose at the perfect potion simmering in the Cauldron.

"Well done Mr. Malfoy-" He turned his dark eyes on Harry and sneered, "-especially considering that you undoubtfully did all the work by yourself."

Harry clenched his fists.

Snape leant in a little closer. "You're just like your father Potter-lazy, spoilt; basking in undeserved praise and glory."

The blood was pounding in Harry's ears; he could almost imagine that steam was billowing out them.

Snape bared his yellow teeth. "He too enjoyed a privileged life-"

It was like someone uncorked a plug.

"You think my life is so privileged, you overgrown bat," Harry screamed.

Snape's lips thinned; his eyes glinted dangerously. "How dare you Potter-twenty points from Gryffindor," he said, as though his teeth were grinding on glass.

Harry slammed his hand down on the desk. "You think I care about your damned points? You can shove your precious points up your arse."

Gasps of shock echoed throughout the classroom.

"You think you know everything? You think that I'm some spoilt prince? You think that I live a privilged life?" he spat, as he pulled at his shirt; the buttons flew off, snapping in succession as they landed on the dungeon wall.

Harry jabbed at the large faded scar on his stomach where the skin was raised. "This is where my aunt threw the frying pan with the bacon in it at me, because I'd burnt Dudley's breakfast."

"Oh, and you see here," Harry said breathlessly, as he traced a thin line down his stomach, "-this is where my cousin threw a glass at me, because I spilt some of his juice on the table..."

"That's enough Potter," Snape said softly.

"Oh is it Professor?" Harry sneered. "I don't think so. You want to see how spoilt I am?"

He rolled up the legs of his trousers, revealing several long faded red stripes down his legs.

"Let me see," he said, pointing to the left leg, "-this one was compliments of my dear uncle's belt, when I landed on top of the house when I was ten-trying to avoid my cousin and his mates, who were trying to beat me up-" He pointed at the other leg; a brittle laugh erupting from his throat, "-and this one was my reward for coming home with better grades than my cousin."

"Oh, and I was so spoilt," he mocked, "that my bedroom was a broom closet until I came to Hogwarts."

Harry turned to Ron. "Why don't you tell everyone how spoilt I am Ron."

Ron's freckles stood out starkly against his pale face, as he stared in disbelief at his friend.

"You remember, don't you Ron, when you and your brothers ripped the bars off my windows in second year?"

Ron nodded slowly.

"Oh, and I just keep food under the floorboards, beneath my bed, for the hell of it. After all," Harry continued in ragged breaths, "spoilt princes don't need to eat do they? Bread and water, sent through a cat-flap in the bedroom door is good enough for Prince Harry."

Harry began to scoop up his books and shove them into his book-bag.

"I'm just a freak you know. I'm just the product of no-good parents who killed themselves in a car-crash."

Harry whipped his head around to look at his professor; a wild look in his eyes.

"Did you know that Professor? Did you know that up until I started at Hogwarts, I had no idea that I was a wizard? That I had no idea that I was famous, or even how my parents had died to save me?"

By the end of his rant, Harry was panting.

He looked around at the pale, shocked faces that stared back at him.

Oh Merlin, he thought, what have I done?

Harry clapped his hand over his mouth, as suddenly the realisation of what he'd just done, hit him. All the secrets that he'd fought so long to keep buried deep inside him, he'd just announced to the whole world.

Now, the Slytherins would really have ammunition to use against him, wouldn't they?

Harry grabbed his book-bag off the desk, and fled out the door.

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Harry ran up the charmed staircase, and through the corridors as fast as he could; his vision was blurred with tears prickling at his eyes, and the jabbing stitches in his side made it hard to breathe.

Thankfully, the Common room and dorm was empty, as everyone was still in class.

Harry stared around at the dorm, with a heavy heart; this was his home, but now he felt exposed...disgraced. How could he face anyone ever again? He didn't want pity, and he certainly didn't want anymore attention drawn to himself.

He could just imagine the headlines; Rita Skeeter would really have a field day with this: "Poor Harry Potter! Is this another ploy to seek attention, or is Harry Potter really abused by his Muggle family?" Her Quick-Quill would flutter back and forth across the parchment, as her malicious hot-pink-glossed lips, delightfully dictated the news that poor Harry Potter was nothing but a pathetic, abused orphan.

Harry stashed all his belongings in his trunk, except for his invisibility cloak; taking one last moment to stare sadly at the portrait of his mum and dad, looking so happy, waving up at him; his heart ached with grief. If only they hadn't died, if only he hadn't been sent to the Dursleys, if only Sirius was a free man...

Harry's throat clogged with emotion, as he placed the picture of his parents in the trunk too. Wasn't it funny how his whole life fit in an scuffed up, three-by-two-by-two foot deep trunk?

Harry carefully and quickly threw the invisibility cloak over himself; he hadn't much time, before the Common room would fill up with students and his friends would be looking for him.

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Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He'd managed to slip by the throngs of students filtering out from their classes, and was breathing heavily, from pulling his trunk down the grassy hill towards Hagrid's hut.

It was a warm, breezy day, and the fluffy white clouds dotted the clear blue skies; birds chirped, crickets croaked and Harry's heart felt heavy. He looked back up at the gilded arches and tall towers of his home for the past four years, and Harry choked back the tears that threatened to fall.

He had seen Hagrid, hand-in-hand with Madame Maxime taking a stroll up towards the castle; an idea had formed in his head.

Hagrid was a regular visitor to the Leaky Cauldron and other such establishments, which meant that he was probably connected to the floo network. Maybe he could use Hagrid's fireplace to floo to London. He had grown up as a Muggle; he could easily blend in. He daren't go anywhere in the Wizarding World-he was too well-known, and word would surely get back to Dumbledore, who would insist on him returning to Hogwarts, and then the Dursleys.

If one thing had been accomplished with Harry's little outburst, it was that speaking about the treatment he'd endured while living with the Dursleys out loud, made him realise how truly horrible these people were, and he really never wanted to go back. But where else could he go? He couldn't go live with the Weasleys; they had too many children of their own, and now that Voldemort had truly returned, Dumbledore would probably insist that he go back to his relatives to ensure his protection with the blood wards.

Harry felt that he didn't belong anywhere; not in the Muggle world, and now that the whole Wizarding world thought that he was a liar and attention-seeker, he felt like an intruder there as well.

Despite his sombre mood, Harry couldn't help the small smile that lifted the corners of his mouth, when he entered Hagrid's hut. Everything was larger than life to accommodate the gentle giant that lived there.

Sadness enveloped him again at the thought the he and his friends would never again sit, sipping tea with Hagrid-slipping their rock-solid cauldron cakes under the table, to Fang. Speaking of which...

Thankfully, Fang seemed to be asleep in the corner, so Harry quietly slipped off his invisibility cloak, and made his way to Hagrid's hearth.

Harry looked up forlornly at the bowl of glittering floo powder sitting uptop the mantlepiece. Oh Merlin, the man was tall!

Harry had to use two hands to pull over the large wooden chair towards the grate; Harry eyed Fang nervously, as the leg of the chair knocked against the enormous, black cauldron sitting next to the Fireplace-the clanging sound echoed off the walls of the hut. Harry held his breath as Fang opened one large droopy eyelid, and slobber dripped down his snout, and sprayed into the air when Fang began shaking his head back and forth; Harry shuddered.

Thankfully, Fang lay his head back down, and immediately began snoring.

Harry gingerly pulled the chair the rest of the way, and climbed up; as he reached a hand up to grab the bowl, he knocked it over; green glitter fluttered to the ground.

Harry's stomach roiled with anxiety, as he peered into the deep glass bowl. Damn! There didn't look like there was enough to get him halfway up the floo, let alone all the way to the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry cupped his hands and began scooping up the powder off the floor and back into the bowl; his Adam's apple began to bob up and down, when he heard voices outside, increasing in volume as they became closer.

Harry grabbed the handle of his trunk; beads of perspiration rolled down his brow as he hurriedly clutched a handful of powder, and stepped inside the grate.

"The Leaky Cauldron," he whispered frantically-throwing the sparkling dust into the air, just as he heard the unmistakable sound of the large metal door-handle rattling.

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Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, when he saw floo powder sprinkled across the floor, and the large chair standing next to the hearth.

"Severus?" Albus laid his arm gently on the younger man's shoulder. "I need you to-"

"It is my fault that Potter went running off. I will go retrieve him, from wherever the idiot boy went running off to."

"Severus!" Albus admonished.

"I apologise Headmaster, but that foolish boy has again put himself and others in danger, when he left the safety of Hogwarts in his vulnerable state."

Albus sent him a reproving look. "Harry is hurting right now Severus. I would have thought that you above anyone else would understand what Harry-"

"Don't!" Severus barked.

How dare the man bring up his past in front of Hagrid. It was bad enough to find out that all his preconceived notions about Potter were wrong; to find out that the boy's childhood could be a carbon-copy of his own, but to have Albus reveal all his secrets that he'd buried so long ago. A sudden thought struck him; that was how Potter must feel. Severus knew that if ever his secrets about his own treatment at the hands of Tobias, were to ever come to light in such a public way, he would have been mortified.

Damned the boy. He hated the fact that he felt a connection to the spoilt brat-that he had something in common with him. But Potter, wasn't the spoilt prince that he thought he was-Severus knew that now. He wished that he didn't know that; oh how Severus wished that he didn't know that-that he could go back to the way things were, where he could freely hate his worst enemy's son. But things would never be the same again...

"Where'dya think he went off ta Professor? Hagrid, asked, lines of worry creasing his eyes.

"We will do a Prior Incantum on the Floo Hagrid. Don't worry; we will find him," Dumbledore said patting the large man on his fore-arm.

Hagrid scowled. "He's a good lad. I knew those Muggles were the worst kind, the minute I laid eyes on 'em. That big lug Dursley, I oughta-"

"Hagrid, we need to hurry if we are to find Harry," Dumbledore said firmly.

Hagrid nodded. "Of course Professor."

Dumbledore swished his wand towards the fireplace, and incanted, "Priori Incantum."

Harry's voice came floating out of the fireplace, echoing through the room; desperation lacing his tone. "The Leaky Cauldron."

Understanding dawned on Dumbledore's face. "Yes..._yes_, that makes sense. That is where he spent several days last time he ran off."

Severus scowled. "Potter, it seems, has a habit of doing whatever comes to mind, without a thought to the consequences."

Severus narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore.

"I warned you before Albus, that this was a dangerous trait that should have been curbed long ago."

"Severus, you may lecture me later on all my faults, but for the moment, time is of the essence. We must find Harry, before-" his eyes crinkled in concern, "-before, others do," he finished.

Severus grabbed a handful of glittering powder and stepped into the Fireplace. He started to raise his hand, and looked at Dumbledore.

"I will find the boy Albus, and I will bring him back. But when I do Headmaster-" He raised his dark eyes to pin the man with a penetrating stare, "-I expect you to answer me truthfully about how much you knew about Potter's home life."

Dumbledore's blue eyes widened in surprise. "What are you suggesting Severus?"

"I'm suggesting that perhaps you chose to ignore some warning signs."

Dumbledore lowered his eyes.

That was the only answer that Severus needed. "The boy will not be returning to his relatives Albus."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Of course not Severus."

Severus threw the sparkling green powder into the air. "The Leaky Cauldron," he said in a gruff voice.

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Harry rolled out of the fireplace, blackened with soot from head-to-toe.

He breathed a sigh of relief; the pub seemed to be relatively empty. Now he just had to make his way to the back and tap on the wall that separated the Wizarding World from the Muggle World, without being seen.

Harry tapped three times on the bricks, and sucked in a breath as the wall opened up into the streets of London.

He was reminded of first year, as he strolled down the streets of London; he harboured strange looks tagging a large trunk and an owl cage behind him.

Harry's stomach began to rumble, and he was reminded that he'd not eaten for several hours now. He was beginning to have doubts now about his decision to hide in Muggle London. At least in the Wizarding World, he could have gone to Gringotts and withdrawn some gold. Harry pulled out a couple of pounds and a few pence from his pockets.

His stomach growled again, and the smell of food mingling in the air, was making his stomach turn.

Harry stopped outside a brightly lit cafe, that advertised a piece of pie and tea for a pound, seventy-five pence.

As he entered the cafe, a bell tingled above his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as the harsh light stabbed at his eyes. He slipped quietly into a booth, and tipped his head, as he felt the heat creep up his neck; every head in the place had turned to stare at him.

A young girl about his age, approached him. Her blond curls spilled down her pretty, pale face, and glossed lips twitched as she blew large bubbles with her chewing gum. To say that she was well endowed was an understatement. Her low-cut, tight tank top squeezed her large breasts together to emphasise her cleavage, and Harry thought that his face was on fire.

Unfortunately, Harry was still under the influence of the potion and couldn't stop himself from running off his mouth once again.

"What can I get you luv?" she asked, leaning down so that her breasts were eye-level with Harry.

"How about a pair of those?" Harry retorted with a crooked grin.

I guess not, Harry thought with a wince, as he was left with only a sting and a red hand-print planted on his cheek.

Harry left the diner with a still-grumbling tummy, and in disgrace. Although, one old-timer winked at him as he slunk out the door with his head down.

Harry ended up buying fish and chips wrapped in newspaper from a street vendor, and sat in an alleyway as he ate.

Harry groaned when he was suddenly surrounded by about fifteen alley cats, eying his fish with sad, pleading eyes and their meows echoing off the dingy brick walls of the old building that he was leaning on.

"Fine," he sighed. He threw the fish in the middle of the alleyway. "I was considering becoming a vegetarian anyway," he said, popping a chip into his mouth.

As the sun set in the distant, smog-filled sky of the city, Harry's head drooped lazily, and his eyelids closed. Harry's hand unconsciously stroked the purring calico that had buried its furry head inside of Harry's jumper.

The seasoned street bum that came upon a slumbering Harry, several hours later scratched his head, at the sight before him.

**HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP**

Harry woke up as the sun was rising over the horizon; he was shivering and his stomach was protesting from the little nourishment it had received the night before.

I need a job, he thought. Hmm...but who's going to hire a fourteen, soon-to-be-fifteen-year-old? One _scrawny_, and _short_, fourteen-year-old. Physical labour was out, but he had plenty of experience cleaning and cooking.

By the middle of the afternoon, Harry was an employed bus-boy at Finnigan's Convenience Store.

Harry worked hard during the day, sweeping and washing the floors and stocking the shelves; by week's end, he'd gotten his first pay. He was looking forward to sleeping on a soft bed, instead of the hard ground; granted he was quite used to sleeping in cramped, cold spaces, after years of living with the Dursleys, but now he had enough to rent a room somewhere.

Problem was though, the small fourteen-year-old look as though he was about eleven-years-old, and everytime he tried to rent a room, the proprietor would either threaten to call social services or the police.

Things were becoming very complicated and not at all like what he'd planned; although if truth be told, he'd not planned this whole thing out very well at all.

The next day as Harry was scrubbing the floorboards, his heart began to ache as he thought about Hogwarts. He missed his friends terribly, and he began to doubt the brilliance of his plan.

With a heavy heart, Harry fell asleep that night, once again on the hard, cold ground, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm. He felt like a little child, but he couldn't stop the tears from prickling his eyes. Every dream he'd ever have of having a real family-a real home, was always snatched away from him; always just out of reach.

**HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP**

After work that evening, Harry strolled down the busy street; the sounds of car horns and screeching tires, filling the air. Despite the wad of money clenched in his palm, from the pay he'd just received, Harry felt oddly dissatisfied. The humiliation that he'd felt when his secrets had been revealed, paled in comparison to the ache of loneliness and despair, that clung to him like a tattered old blanket.

Harry, who hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings, bumped into a solid object.

"Oi, what have we got 'ere then?"

Harry's stomach clenched in fear, as he looked up to see that he was surrounded by a group of older boys-about seventeen or eighteen, hair greased back, dressed in leather jackets, and torn jeans; one was sporting a pocket-knife, and held it up threateningly-inches from Harry's face.

He grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck; pulling him so close that Harry could smell the alcohol on his breath.

He tried to pry the money from Harry's fingers, but Harry arched back.

An ugly scowl appeared on the boy's face.

"Give me that money pipsqueak," he growled.

"Go to hell you asshole," Harry spat.

Harry started gasping when he was pulled up by his collar-dangling on his toes.

"What did you say?" he said, baring his teeth.

"You know that zit looks really big this close up."

Harry doubled over in pain when a booted foot landed a hard kick to his stomach. He stubbornly held on to the money.

Suddenly, the fist clutching Harry's collar, released him, and he was thrown backwards. Harry's tormentors' faces turned white. All at once, the boys turned tail, and ran off in the other direction.

Harry lay on the cold ground, clutching his stomach; his eyes clenched shut. He felt the tinny taste of blood in his mouth, and his skull felt as though it'd been crushed, when it smashed against the asphalt.

"Potter."

Oh Merlin. He must be hallucinating from the pain. He could have sworn that he heard Snape's voice.

"Potter." The voice got deeper.

There it was again. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, the voice would go away.

"Potter," the silky voice said again.

Harry opened one eye, and despite being dressed in dark trousers and a shirt, it was unmistakably the scowling face of the greasy git of the dungeons.

Harry groaned.

"What do you want?" he croaked, closing his eyes again.

Harry felt cool fingers probing the back of his head.

Harry's eyelids fluttered open to see dark, smoldering eyes studying him. If Harry didn't know better, he'd say that Snape actually looked concerned about him. But Harry knew better...

"I believe that you have a concussion Potter. I need to get you somewhere safe, before I can heal you properly."

"Heal me?"

"Yes, I can't heal you here," he said, leaning down, gently lifting Harry to his feet.

Harry tried to pull away, but the larger man was too strong.

"No," Harry protested, "just leave me alone. I'm fine."

"You are not fine Potter, and you are coming with me. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

He smirked at Harry.

"I'm sure that you are familiar with the term, Body Bind," he sneered.

Harry was in too much pain to argue, and Harry recognised that he was defeated. "Fine, but I'm not going back to Hogwarts.

Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry. "You are in no position to issue ultimatums Potter."

"And you've got a big nose, bad breath, greasy hair and-"

Harry's lips suddenly glued together.

Snape slipped his wand back into his trouser's pocket. "Aw, that's better."

Snape held Harry firmly to his chest, grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage; the bird eyed the Potions Master suspiciously, but must have decided that he meant no harm, because apart from a small squack, she settled down on her perch, to pick at her feathers.

Snape led Harry towards an empty alleyway; holding the boy up, firmly under his armpits. Harry was rather thankful, as he felt as though his legs wouldn't have supported him anyway.

Harry was never sure whether the feeling of being turned inside out was from Apparating, or his head injury, but if Snape had not been holding onto his arms with an iron grip, Harry would have made acquaintance with the very hard ground.

"Come," a firm voice ordered.

All Harry could make out through his pain-filled haze, was a run-down looking house, with a white, or rather _yellow_ , picket-fence, that had seen better days. The grass looked as though it hadn't been mowed in several months, the shingles were peeling off the outside, and the shutters were flapping in the wind. Rain had begun to drizzle down, splattering on the sidewalk.

Under normal circumstances, Harry would have rather eaten slugs, than follow his professor anywhere, let alone a house that looked as uninviting and creepy as this one, but at this moment, pain radiated right up to his cerebral cortex, and his eyes felt like daggers were being plunged into his sockets, so Harry didn't even question where Snape was leading him; he just wanted the world to stop spinning.

Snape led him down a dark corridor, and into a dimly-lit room. He lay Harry gently down on the soft mattress and as Harry's head touched the feathery pillow beneath his aching skull, he thought how heavenly it felt to lay on a real mattress, and not the cold ground.

Snape waved his wand, and Harry's lips became unsealed. Although, ten minutes later, as the most foul-tasting crap, disguised as potion was forced down his throat, Harry wished that Snape had left his lips glued together.

"What the hell was that? Cow dung?"

"It is to alleviate the pain Potter. Now shut up while I examine you."

As Snape pressed against the large egg on the back of Harry's head, he screamed out in pain. "Get your slimy fingers off me, you greasy git."

Snape straightened up, and scowled down at Harry.

"Mr. Potter, I will over-look your wayward lips, on the premise that you are under the influence of a very powerful potion, but I promise you-" he sneered, "-that when you are well, you will become very familiar with dirty cauldrons, and slimy potions ingredients."

Harry groaned. He had a feeling that the Potions Master had been taking notes of his indiscretions for a long time.

"Now, I would prefer that Madam Pomfrey takes a look at you."

Harry tried to hoist himself up, but Snape's strong hand pushed firmly against his chest.

"No! I'm not ready to go back to Hogwarts just yet."

"The students have all left to go to their families Potter, but I would prefer not to move you just yet. I'm not sure of the extent of your concussion, and you are seriously mal-nourished and run-down."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Undoubtedly, a legacy from life with your relatives."

"Oh God," Harry groaned.

Harry did not want to talk about his life with the Dursleys-especially not with Snape.

"Don't worry Potter. I've never claimed to be a psychologist. I will not force you to talk about this with me, although I daresay, your traitorous lips will leave you with no choice in the matter," he sneered.

Harry flushed.

"I will see if Madame Pomfrey can come here to take a look at you. I have some training in Healing, but I'm not an expert in head injuries. I do know that the pain reliever that I have just given you is safe to take with a possible concussion, but it does have some tranquilizing properties, and depending on the severity of your concussion, it may not be advisable for you to sleep right away."

"Rest. I will floo the Headmaster to assure him that you are safe."

He gave Harry a stern look.

"You have caused an enormous amount of worry to the Headmaster and your friends with your recklessness."

"I know. I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

"Rest assured Mr. Potter, we will be working on your penchant for seeking danger this summer."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

"What do you mean...this summer?" A sinking feeling began to form in the pit of his stomach.

Snape smirked at him.

"All in good time Potter. All in good time."

"You know, you really do have a big nose, and greasy hair, and-"

"Potter," Snape growled, waving his wand menacingly over Harry.

"It's not fair," Harry grumbled. "I can't help myself. By the way, how long before this potion wears off?"

The corner of Snape's thin lips lifted. "This potion is untested Potter. It is impossible to predict. But I daresay that before it is over, you will be revealing to me much more than you ever wished."

Harry pulled the blankets over his head.

**HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP**

"Wake up Potter," a very familiar, and very annoying voice interrupted his slumber.

Harry's rolled over and opened one eye.

"Eek! What the hell are _you_ doing here Malfoy?" he asked angrily.

"Good morning to you too Potter," Draco said in a bored voice.

He was sitting in a chair by Harry's bed, flipping through the pages of the latest copy of "Wizarding High Society", feet propped up on the brass head-board of Harry's bed.

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Get the hell out of here Malfoy," he said angrily.

"My my," he drawled, "didn't we wake up on the wrong side of the bed, Potter."

Harry pulled the pillow out from under his head, and threw it at Malfoy's smug face. Unfortunately, abruptly pulling the pillow out from under his head, not only caused his head to throb and his vision to tunnel, but the annoying tosser, actually managed to catch the damned pillow with one hand!

"Get out Malfoy," Harry said furiously.

"No can do Potter. Professor Snape had to step out to buy some supplies," he said in a disgusted voice. "Honestly, why he chooses to live in this God-forsaken Muggle neighbourhood, I'll never understand. Anyway...he said that I'm to attend to your needs; be at your beck and call..."

"I'm not a child and I don't need a baby-sitter, and you are the last person that I want to see right now," he sneered.

"Besides, if you are so high and mighty and this place is so above you, why the hell are you here?"

Draco moved forward, and into the slice of light, filtering in through the curtains; a large blue and purple bruise, under his right eye, marred the boy's pale, smooth skin.

"Let's just say Potter. That you and I have more in common than you might think," he said quietly.

Before Harry could ponder that statement further, Snape appeared at the door.

"Mr. Potter, if you are feeling up to it, you may join us at the table for breakfast."

"Yeah, that'll really help my appetite," he said acerbically. "Eating with the greasy git of the dungeons and a bigoted, self-absorbed arsehole."

Draco smirked at Snape.

"You weren't kidding when you said that Potter had no control over his mouth. This should be a very interesting summer."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

Draco turned to Snape. "You mean you haven't told him yet Severus?"

"No Draco," he drawled. "I thought that I'd leave that pleasure to you."

The corner of Draco's silver eyes creased when he smiled. "You and I will be spending the summer together Potter."

H**P HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP**

Harry had to admit, that although the company left much to be desired, Snape had gone all out with the breakfast.

Fresh fruit, eggs, waffles, pancakes and a large pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice was laid out on the large kitchen table.

In the light of day, Harry supposed that the place wasn't so bad, in a dilapidated kind of spider-web in every corner, and dust-bunny balls floating through the air, kind of way. A good cleaning and perhaps a coat of paint and it wouldn't be bad at all. The ceiling was high, the windows were large and lit up the kitchen in a warm glow. It could be quite homey and comfortable with a little elbow-grease. It wasn't so bad at all. Now... having to sit down and eat a meal with Snape and Malfoy was another matter altogether.

"So, Potter-" Draco said, leaning forward; a gleeful smile on his face. "-Severus tells me that you have no control over what you say, and have to answer every question honestly."

Harry's stomach swooped. He just knew where this was going. Sure enough...

"In third year, did you sneak out to Hogsmeade and throw mud at me?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Snape said in a silky voice, "I'd like to know the answer to that question as well."

Harry groaned.

This was going to be a very long summer indeed...


	2. The Truth is Highly Overrated

It all belongs to J.K. Rowling, as if you didn't know!

Thanks go to my amazing beta, ObsidianEmbrace, and my good friend Kristeh, for all their support and encouragement.

My portrayal of Draco was highly influenced by Aspeninthesunlight's Draco in the "A Year Like None Other" universe. I was never overly fond of him before reading her stories.

**HP SS DM**

As much as Harry had thought that Spinner's End would be quite homey with a bit of elbow grease and a coat of paint, having the task assigned to him as punishment for revealing that he'd broken school rules a year ago, rather took the wind out of his sails.

"Argh!" A loud screech made him jump.

"What the hell Malfoy?" Harry scowled at the blond boy, who jumped up on the chair, and was looking down at a large spider crawling across the floor.

Malfoy pointed with his long, manicured finger. "Th-aa-t," he said; his bottom lip trembling.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Honestly Malfoy!" It's just a spider."

"Just a spider?" Draco croaked. "It's the size of Goyle's fist."

Harry smirked.

"You know you kind of remind of Ron. He's deathly afraid of spiders as well."

Harry clapped a hand over his mouth. Oops! Ron would kill him for revealing his deepest fears. Oh right, he'd already done that a few times, hadn't he?

"Weasley?" Draco said indignantly. "You're comparing me to that blood traitor?"

Harry threw the scrub brush on the floor and rolled up his sleeves. "If you insult Ron one more time, I'm going to pound you one."

"What is going on in here?" a silky voice demanded.

Snape stood tall and menacing, dressed in his usual black garb, minus the robes; he filled the doorway with his towering presence.

"He's acting like a whiny girl. All afraid of a spider," Harry retorted. "And, he just called Ron a Blood Traitor!"

Intense black eyes made Harry shiver.

"Is this true Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco's face flushed with embarrassment, as he gingerly put one foot on the floor; he eyed the arachnid scuttling across the floor.

He hung his head. "Yes sir." He was trying to change-he really was, but years of conditioning from his Pureblood-obsessed parents, had left their mark on the Slytherin, and many of his Housemates had encouraged the boy's tainted views.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Draco."

Draco hunched his shoulders. "I know. I'm sorry."

Severus let his stern gaze rest upon the blond, for a moment. "Both of you, go get washed up for dinner. It would seem that we need to have yet another discussion on cooperation."

Harry leant towards Draco, and whispered under his breath, "And I think that we need to have another discussion with Snape about his choice of shampoos."

Draco couldn't help it, he snorted.

With a glare from Snape, Draco forced his lips downward, Potter was a hoot; crazy to insult someone as fearsome as Professor Snape, especially in his own home, but Draco couldn't help but think, that this summer was going to be anything but dull, with Potter under the effects of this potion.

"Upstairs," Severus growled, pointing towards the staircase.

"Geesh, what a grouch," Draco said under his breath.

"Go!"

"We're going. We're going," Draco grumbled.

**HP SS DM**

Upon entering their room, yes their room, Harry thought grumpily, he threw himself down on the bed. Snape had decided that he and Draco needed to share a room, after growing increasingly weary of their constant squabbling. He had decided that the only way that both boys would learn to get along, is if they were in forced, close proximity.

Harry winced as his back made contact with the mattress; yes, the mattress was as soft as a feather, and definitely was better than sleeping in cold alleyways, or on his thin, lumpy mattress, with springs sticking out in all directions, that his loving relatives had provided him with, but Harry's ribs were still tender from the beating that he'd received from those thugs. After the beatings Harry had already received in the past from his uncle, his ribs had never healed properly and were particularly vulnerable to injury.

"Potter?"

Harry sucked in a painful breath, and pulled himself up off the bed, onto his elbows.

"You alright?"

Harry nodded.

Harry blinked; could it have been concern that shone in the Slytherin's grey eyes? The mask was back up too quickly, but Draco continued to stare at him. Harry shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"Do you want the shower first?" Draco finally spoke.

Harry waved his arm. "No, you go first."

"Okay," Draco said, and grabbed a handful of fluffy, white towels from the laundry basket, and proceeded towards the loo.

His hand rested on the door-handle, and he turned around. "Look Potter, I'm sorry, I-"

"Harry."

Draco's eyes widened. "Huh?"

Harry pulled himself upright.

"It looks like we're going to be spending a lot of time together this summer, so I reckon that we should at least call each other by our first names."

Draco lifted a blond eye-brow in an eerily similar fashion to Snape. "Yeah, that and the fact that Severus ordered us to."

Harry smirked. "Yeah, that too."

Despite several applications of Snape's bruise salve, the pale skin around Draco's eye was still marred by dark purple and black bruising. Harry knew that Draco would not appreciate his pity, but Harry couldn't help think how uncharacteristically vulnerable the blond boy seemed. Even his stance as he leant against the door, was not as confident and self-assured as he normally was.

Harry wanted to know what happened-was dying of curiosity actually, but he could almost imagine the scene in his mind. The elder Malfoy was a cruel, sadistic bastard, and Harry surprised himself at the anger that rose up in his throat on Draco's behalf.

"Did your father do that to you?"

"Oh Merlin! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have asked you that, I-"

Harry stopped, horrified at that he'd actually verbalised what he'd been thinking. Unfortunately, the effects of the potion continued to loosen his tongue.

"It's alright Po-Harry."

Draco's hand tightened on the door-handle.

"It's no big deal. My father expects a certain level of perfection, and when I don't deliver...well, let's just say that he makes his displeasure known very clearly," he said bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

He picked at the lint on his jumper.

"My uncle-" he swallowed the lump in his throat, "well, you heard-I mean, in class, you know..."

**HP SS DM**

Severus stomped up the stairs. If those boys were fighting again, he'd have them chopping Lace-Wing Flies, and scrubbing cauldrons until-" he stopped abruptly just outside the boys' room, and listened to their conversation.

He turned around, made his way back to the kitchen and turned down the heat on the burner.

Harry lay back down on the bed; gingerly this time, and allowed his gaze to roam around the room. He could hear the shower running, and Harry allowed himself to chuckle; was that really Draco Malfoy, spoilt Prince of Slytherin, humming in the shower? It was just so odd to think of Malfoy doing anything so mundane as singing, let alone in the shower.

As Harry gazed around the room, he couldn't help but think that the room was much nicer than anything he'd ever had before; well, anything would be an improvement over a broom closet, wouldn't it? Or Dudley's second bedroom.

Snape had muttered something about the room having been a guest room before. Harry wondered briefly at the choice in furnishings. The room was very beautiful, but it didn't seem all that age-appropriate for two fourteen-year-old teenage boys, with its pale blue walls, blue curtains edged with a deep burgundy. Sunlight filtered in through the large, bay window, and although the rest of the house was old and in need of repair, this room seemed to have recently received a fresh coat of paint and the hardwood floors glistened with polish. Dark blue throw rugs, woven with the same burgundy found in the curtains, were placed to the side of each twin bed.

Matching dark blue bedspreads with several pale and dark blue over-sized pillows adorned the beds. The furniture was simple, but classic; each boy had a night-table with a Muggle-style brass lamp on each one. Both beds were identical; made of the same dark, polished walnut that the dressers were made of, with delicately hand-carved floral designs, and polished brass handles. Despite the floral designs and the tasteful decor, the room still had a masculine aura.

Each boy had their own desk, made of the same burnished walnut, complete with shelves, and lined with an assortment of what looked like Potions Manuals, and other volumes that Harry couldn't understand the titles of, as they were written in Latin. Harry rolled his eyes. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Snape would probably expect both boys to work on their Potions skills all summer.

There was also a dark blue divan, with light blue, and burgundy throw pillows scattered on it. Yes, a very comfortable room and beautiful in its rich colours and decor, but Harry still couldn't help thinking that it needed just a touch of something youthful.

Harry had a mischievous sparkle in his eye, when Draco came out of the shower, patting his wet hair dry with the towel.

"It's all yours Po-Harry."

"Yeah, just a minute Draco," Harry said thoughtfully, as he started emptying his trunk.

"Uh, Severus is not a patient man," Draco said nervously. "I really think that you'd better hurry and get washed up for dinner."

"Yeah, in a minute," Harry said breathlessly, as he rummaged through his trunk.

"What the hell are you doing Potter?"

"I just think that this room could use a little something to make it look a more like teenagers live in it," Harry explained, as though that explained everything.

Draco threw the wet towel on his bed, and peered down to look at Harry throwing clothes, quills, parchment, a Sneakoscope, and a pair of mismatched socks into the air, searching for Merlin knows what. Severus would be furious if he saw the mess that Potter was making; Draco snatched his wet towel off the bed, and hurriedly stuffed the clothes that were scattered on his side of the room, into his dresser drawer; he really had no desire to scrub anymore cauldrons, or to listen to another lecture on how Spinner's End was not Malfoy Manor, and that there were no House-elves to pick up after him. As if Draco needed anymore reminder that this hell-hole was not Malfoy Manor.

Draco sobered up quickly though. As much as he missed the luxuries that being able to perform magic would afford him, he wouldn't trade living with Severus here, even with all his rules, and his little idiosyncrasies, and being forced to perform chores meant for a House-Elf, to living with his cruel and sadistic father. Draco did miss his mother though, and his heart gave a little tug when he thought how she always tried to protect him, even at her own expense. It had been her idea for Draco to stay with his godfather, and even managed to convince Lucius that with Severus' tutelage and strict discipline, that Draco could finally achieve the marks, a young wizard of his station should earn. It was a hard sell, but his mother had finally convinced his father of the benefits of Draco spending the summer with a Professor.

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

Harry smirked. "That we add a little something to the decor," he said, straightening up, as he finally found the object of his search.

He held up a Gryffindor banner, a Chudley Cannon Quidditch team poster, compliments of Ron, some mementos of the World Cup, including posters of the Irish Quidditch team, and an assortment of other, what looked like Gryffindor rubbish to Draco's eyes.

"Are you crazy Potter? First of all, we're in a Muggle neighbourhood," he said, not quite hiding his distaste, "and secondly, I already tried to add my personal touch to the room," he said haughtily, "and Severus made me remove it."

"Yeah well...Snape needs to remove that plug from his arse, and loosen up."

"I look forward to you informing him of that."

"C'mon Malfoy, uh...Draco, you can even decorate your side of the room in Slytherin colours."

Draco's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was Slytherin after all. No one ever offered anything, without expecting something in return.

"I suppose that means that I have to let you decorate your side in Gryffindor colours?"

Harry answered with a crooked grin. "Of course."

Draco hesitated. Severus would not be pleased, but then again, when is Severus ever pleased.

He threw his arms up in the air. "Oh, what the hell..."

**HP SS DM**

Severus allowed a small sigh to escape. The conversation that he'd overheard gave him a sliver of hope that perhaps this summer wouldn't be the disaster he'd envisioned it to be; what with putting Potter and Draco together under one roof. Severus had been sure that the boys would destroy his house, but maybe, just maybe, these boys would be able to put prejudices and past grudges aside, and help each other to heal.

After Po-no-Harry; he had to change his mindset; if he insisted that the boys call each other by their Christian names, then he must do so as well. It wasn't easy to put his own past grudges aside.

What the boys didn't realise, was that, contrary to what they believed, he had not assigned a punishment for Harry breaking the rules, and sneaking off to Hogsmeade last year; although if truth be told, he wanted to strangle the Headmaster for not only, not disciplining the boy, but actually rewarding the little hellion for his continued breach of school rules. No. Severus did not punish Harry for sneaking off to Hogsmeade, nor did he punish Draco for calling the Granger girl a Mudblood (well not solely for that), but he was tired of their constant bickering, and wanted them to realise, not how their backgrounds and upbringing were so different, but how alike they actually were.

Dark times were ahead, and both boys were more important to the cause of Light, then either realised. Both boys were in particularly vulnerable positions as well. Potter it was obvious, but while Draco knew of Lucius' loyalties, he had no idea just how deeply entrenched his father was in the Dark Lord's plans to take over the Wizarding World-and he himself, well, he was in the most vulnerable position of all. He had Harry Bloody Potter living with him, and if the Dark Lord found out-to say that he wouldn't be pleased, would be an understatement; or perhaps he would be, and would expect Severus to deliver the boy to him on a silver platter.

Severus lifted up a wad of starchy, gobby spaghetti noodles with a large fork; reluctant as he was to interrupt the boy's talk, he eyed the over-cooked pasta with distaste. He plopped the noodles back into the pot, and then, with a wave of his wand vanished the contents.

He pulled out more noodles from the package, and filled the pot with fresh water, and put it back on the stove; he set the water to boil once more.

Some things were more important, then perfect pasta

He stirred the sauce and was satisfied that it too, wasn't over-cooked; at least it was difficult to over-cook pasta sauce, and it had only been on a low simmer for the last three hours.

He sat back, perusing the local Muggle newspaper, while he waited for the boys to wash up and finish their conversation.

Exasperated, Severus finally slapped his hand down on the table, rattling the cutlery, and stood up angrily. He looked up at the clock. What the hell were those boys doing up there? He stalked over to the stove, and turned off the burner again. With another swish of his wand, he waved away the contents of the pot once more.

**HP SS DM**

If very loud rock music had not been blaring from the radio-making the thin walls of their bedroom rattle and shake, and if Harry and Draco had not been arguing hotly over which side of the room was better decorated, they might have been fore-warned of the fiery storm that was headed their way, in the guise of one Severus Snape. And they might have heard the loud, punishing sound of boots meeting stairs, as an angry Snape stomped upwards towards the targets of his ire. They might have cringed at the picture of the tall dark wizard, with the angry scowl etched on his pale features, the flashing, furious obsidian eyes, and the way his lips had stretched into a thin line.

Unfortunately, Draco and Harry were too busy zipping back and forth on their brooms, as they attempted to catch the elusive golden practice snitch that Harry had found at the bottom of his trunk, as it veered through the air, flapping its wings and mocking them to catch it.

Perched in the farthest corner of the room's ceiling, Harry sneered at the Slytherin.

"You call yourself a seeker Malfoy?" he mocked.

"As a matter of fact I do," Draco responded, as he reached out with his long, pale fingers to grab the snitch, only to capture a handful of air.

The grin on Harry's face melted as the door flew open, almost ripping the hinges from the wall, with the force of its blast.

"Oh shit!" Harry croaked, at the image of a very tall, very dark, very menacing-looking Snape standing in the door-way; his back rigid, obsidian eyes flashing daggers, and his arms crossed against his chest, looking for all the world as though he wanted to murder the two of them.

An hour later, Draco, Harry and Snape sat down to a dinner, much to Draco's chagrin, of canned ravioli. He dared not complain about the common, Muggle fare, as he termed it, for fear of igniting his godfather's volatile temper once more. He rather thought that he had held his tongue quite successfully, when Severus had slapped the plate-full of red, rubbery-looking, things on the table before him, splattering sauce all over his expensive, cashmere jumper.

**HP SS DM**

It had only been yesterday that Snape had rescued Harry from the streets of Muggle London, and while it had not been fun having the threat of punishment leveled over him, listening to Snape's scathing lecture about proper behaviour and having his Firebolt confiscated, he had to admit, that Draco had been a good sport about him decorating his side of the room in very "Gryffindork" colours, as the blond boy had put it; even if the impromptu Quidditch practice had resulted in both boys having to write lines and scrub cauldrons, lose their brooms for an undetermined amount of time, Snape had eventually, albeit much grumbling, agreed to allow them to keep their new decor. Of course this privilege was accorded with much threatening that if the room was not kept immaculately clean, that he would personally take down every poster, banner and every other manner of teenage paraphernalia, and throw it into the Floo.

"After you boys finish washing up the dishes," Snape began, to which both boys glared at him, "I would like for you to excuse us Draco. There are some things that I wish to discuss with Mr. Potter, including the house rules, and certain expectations that I require of him."

Harry rolled his eyes. He was wondering when Snape would get to the rules. It seemed like the man loved rules; why couldn't he just let his greasy hair down already, and relax.

Oops! Harry hadn't realised that he had expressed this thought verbally, and very loudly.

Severus gave Draco a very stern look, when the boy slapped his hand down on the table and burst into a loud guffaw.

"That will be enough Draco."

"Of course Severus," he agreed, while clapping a hand over his mouth; he couldn't quite smother the snickering however.

"Mr. Potter-" Severus began, snarling, "-let me disabuse you immediately of any thought you might have that I would let you run wild about my premises, as the Headmaster, or your Head of House might."

"I don't run wild-" Harry said hotly. "-and you know nothing about me, or what Dumbledore or McGonagall might or might not let me do, you big, over-grown-"

Harry's eyes grew wide, as his lips were flapping, but no sound was coming from his larynx.

Snape smirked, as he slipped his wand back into his trousers' pocket.

Harry stomped his foot, and his face grew red.

Snape leant in close enough for Harry to feel his hot breath tickle his cheek.

"Perhaps it is unfair of me to punish you for what comes out of your mouth, while under the influence of this potion, but I've never been accused of being fair Mr. Potter, now have I?" He said snidely.

A plethora of profanities were running through Harry's mind, as he glared angrily up into his Professor's dark eyes.

Snape pointed towards the sink-full of frothy suds, of which Draco was staring down forlornly in to.

"I will remove the silencing spell, but I suggest that you find some way of controlling your flapping gums, or I will be forced to come up with some very creative methods of counter-acting the potion's effects."

"Now. Get. To. Work," he bit out the words, as he pointed a long, potion-stained finger towards the sink full of dirty dishes."

"Draco," he said silkily. "I will be inspecting the dishes to assure that they have indeed been cleaned and dried properly, so if you have any notions about slacking off and doing a less than thorough job on them, I have a multitude of cauldrons to be scrubbed and potions ingredients to be chopped and stored in phials.

"And Draco..." he nodded towards the obvious form of Draco's hand clutching onto his wand in his pocket, "you need not worry about the Ministry's reaction should you be caught doing underage magic, because you'll have to escape my wrath first."

Draco gulped.

His father had always allowed him to do magic at home, and even went so far as to teach him some Dark Magic. Of course this was a Muggle neigbourhood, and magic would be detected in a heartbeat.

**HP SS DM**

"Uh, grmm, blah blah blah..."

"Mr. Potter! May I ask what the hell you are doing?" Snape growled.

Harry looked up petulantly at the Potions Master, from his perch on the edge of the battered sofa.

"I'm testing to see if my voice is working," he snapped.

"If you do not wish to lose it again permanently, I suggest that you refrain from making nonsensical noises, and work your tone of voice into a more acceptable one," he said snidely.

"Yes sir," Harry said, grinding his teeth; at this rate, his teeth would be ground down to a fine powder by the end of the summer," he thought angrily.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. His patience was wearing thin, and he honestly didn't know how he was going to keep his sanity, while saddled with two very demanding teens. He was still furious over the boy's display of foolhardiness; imagine flying their brooms indoors! If truth be told though, he was not quite as furious as he made the boys believe.

If Potter and Draco had found a common ground and were able to put their differences aside, at least till school began again, it would make his job that much easier. He wasn't naive enough to believe that the boys were going to suddenly put aside three years of animosity so easily, but it was a beginning. He wasn't eager to have his home turned into a battle-ground.

Both boys were emotionally damaged, and he could not see how he could possibly provide the necessary support that they needed; he was a loner by choice, not by necessity; he'd never been comfortable laying his cards on the table, and he while he felt that he could provide protection, a stable, structured environment for both boys, helping them to heal emotionally, was beyond his capabilities.

In addition to taking care of the needs of these children, Severus had to deal with the new task that the Headmaster had assigned him. However was he to jumble the responsibilities of mentoring two teenage boys, protecting the Boy-Who-Lived from the newly risen Dark Lord, fulfilling his newly assigned duty as a spy for Order, and somehow keep Draco from following in the footsteps of his sadistic, bastard of a father.

As if the subject of his thoughts could hear him, loud banging on the front door, made the walls shake.

"Severus," a familiar, haughty voice called.

Severus' eyes widened. Lucius Malfoy was at his front door.

He looked down into Harry's startled green eyes.

Harry jumped up angrily. He hadn't forgotten Malfoy's part in Cedric's death.

Severus clamped a firm hand down on his shoulder, before Harry could utter a word.

"Come Potter," he said frantically, "You cannot be seen here."

"Draco," he looked at the boy, who had climbed halfway up the stairs. "Do you wish to see your father?"

Draco's already pale face turned the colour of sour milk.

He shook his head.

At Draco's stricken look, Severus squeezed his shoulder and said, "Stay out of sight.. I'll make an excuse to your father."

Draco let out a sigh of relief; he had no desire to see his father.

Harry was struggling to get free from Snape's vice-like grip; logic had flown out the window, Harry just wanted to get his hands on Malfoy, and be damned the consequences.

"Be still you idiot boy!" Snape growled. "Malfoy cannot know you are here. Now settle down," he ordered, pulling Harry up the stairs; Draco followed, his knees shaking.

Severus yanked open the door of the broom closet and shoved both boys inside.

As darkness enveloped them; the only light in the small, cramped space, filtering in from the keyhole, Harry felt his heart beat frantically against his ribcage, sweat trickled down his brow, his hands felt clammy; his chest burnt from trying to draw breath into lungs that felt too small. He felt something drop down from the ceiling and crawl down his arm.

He fell to his knees, and whimpered, "No please. No please, Uncle Vernon, not the cupboard, please not the cupboard."


	3. Cupboard Under the Stairs

All characters belong to J.K. Rowling of course.

Thanks so much to my beta and good friend, the brilliant ObsidianEmbrace. Thanks also to the very talented Kristen who has been a wonderful friend and support to me. Both are wonderful authors. Go check out their wonderful Stories.

Sorry for such a long wait, but this past year has been very difficult for me. First I was very ill, and then my father passed away. I will try to update more often if RL behaves! Thank to all of you who have stuck it out with me!

XXXXXXXX

"Lucius," Severus said, with a slight sneer. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Are you going to keep me standing in the doorway Severus?" Lucius said haughtily. "Or are you going to invite me in?"

"Oh, of course Lucius. Pardon my manners."

"So," Severus said, as he reached out a hand to take Lucius' cloak and cane, "What brings you to this Muggle hell hole, as you so aptly put it the last time you graced me with your presence?"

Lucius gingerly settled himself into the frayed arm-chair, but not before planting a look of disgust on his pale features.

"Honestly Severus. I know that the Dark Lord said to keep a low profile, but this," he said, his upper lip lifting in a sneer, "is carrying it too far."

Severus turned his back on the blond aristocrat, and gritted his teeth. He tossed some ice into two glasses, and filled them both with brandy.

He took a deep breath before turning around and handing the glass of brandy to Lucius.

"So, Lucius. You haven't told me why you're here."

Lucius lifted a blond eyebrow. "I think that it's fairly obvious Severus. I wish to see my son."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"And why is that?" Lucius asked sharply.

Severus sat down, and crossed his long legs; he was formulating a response that would satisfy Lucius…for the time being anyway.

"Relax Lucius. Sit back down." Severus said when the blond man had jumped up angrily.

"Where is my son Severus?" Lucius asked in a dangerous voice.

Severus could see a pulsing in the man's temple, and his finger's tightening on the polished handle of his cane.

"Relax Lucius, and sit down. Draco is simply at Hogwarts, completing some extra credit work that I have set him."

"I see. Just why would he need to go to Hogwarts, when he has your wonderful, fully-stocked library here to peruse?" he sneered.

Severus took a sip of his drink.

"While I have spent many years accumulating these rare and expensive volumes, my collection nowhere equals that of Hogwarts. Besides, I have also set Draco an advanced, independent study project in Potions. My lab here is severely lacking to that of Hogwarts."

"Of course it is," Lucius said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Severus dearly hoped that the man would not take it upon himself to go Hogwarts to check up on Draco; Severus would have some serious explaining to do.

"So is that the only reason that you have honoured me with your presence?" Severus asked, hoping to steer the conversation towards less dangerous topics.

"No it isn't, but I am pleased to see that you are making Draco's education a priority. It is unacceptable that that Mudblood continually surpasses Draco's grades," he spat.

"Why is it Severus, that you award her such high marks?" he growled, and slammed his cane down on the floor.

"You know very well why Lucius. I must answer to the Headmaster and justify all the grades that I submit. While I can choose what student, or rather what House to favour, and award points at my own discretion, grades are scrutinised by the Headmaster and the Board of Wizarding Education, as you well know."

"Yes. Very convenient," he sneered.

"Draco is at the top of all his classes Lucius. You should be proud of him."

Lucius' eyes flashed.

"Do not ever presume to tell me how to feel about my own son Severus."

"Forgive me. I was only trying to point out to you that Draco is consistently at the top of all of his classes. Perhaps you should-"

"Do not tell me what to do with my son!" Lucius bellowed. "I do not care if Draco is at the top of his class. I want him to be the best in his class. All of his classes. I want him to do better than the Mudblood. He is a Malfoy. He must be worthy of the name."

Lucius got up and paced back and forth, stomping his cane on the floor as he ranted. He swirled around to pierce Severus with grey eyes that were as warm as chips of ice.

"Perhaps I was mistaken that you were the best person to help Draco realise his potential. I think perhaps it is time for Draco to return home."

Severus drew in a sharp breath.

"You know that I have only Draco's best interest at heart."

"Perhaps Severus, but I think perhaps that you're interpretation of what is best for Draco and mine are two different things."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. The man was seriously getting on his nerves; Lucius' favourite pastime was playing mind games.

"What are you implying Lucius?"

"I'm not _implying_ anything. I'm _saying_ that you've gone soft Severus," he said coldly.

"I don't think that either Draco, or any of my students, would agree with you. I demand the best of my Slytherins. Anything else is unacceptable," Severus said dryly.

"The boy needs discipline Severus."

"And he is getting it Lucius," Severus snapped. "I rather resent your suggestion that I'd be anything less than exacting with Draco. My Slytherins know that I won't tolerate anything but excellence, and they know the consequences should they fail to meet my high expectations."

"Maybe," Lucius said slowly.

He got up and walked over to the window.

"Very well Severus. I will give you the benefit of the doubt. Merlin knows that the Dark Lord has been quite adamant that you are trustworthy and that it is you he wishes to train Draco in the Dark Arts," he said jealously.

He drained the last dregs of his drink, and placed it on the side table. "I will, however," he said in a soft voice, which nevertheless sounded threatening, "expect a thorough weekly report on Draco's progress."

Severus nodded his head. "Of course Lucius."

Lucius made it almost to the door, and suddenly, both men hissed in pain and clutched their arms.

Severus cursed inwardly. The Dark Lord had the worse timing. With thoughts of Draco and Harry still huddled in the closet, Severus prepared himself mentally to face his Dark Master.

XXX

"Let me out Uncle Vernon. I'll be good. Please let me out."

"Potter," Draco whispered harshly. "You have to be quiet. My father will hear you and then it'll all be over."

Harry began clawing at the door. "No. Please, I'm sorry Uncle Vernon. I swear that I didn't tell the teacher how I broke my arm. I swear."

"Potter please, you have to be quiet."

"Don't close the door Uncle Vernon. Please don't close the door."

Draco knelt beside Harry in the cramped space.

"Potter…Harry, you aren't with your aunt and uncle." He touched Harry lightly on the shoulder.

Harry flinched and squealed.

Draco raked his fingers through his blond hair. He tried to think of how he could calm Potter down.

He came up empty. He wasn't good at this emotional crap. He was used to manipulating, cheating, and saving your own arse at any cost; empathy and sympathy just weren't in his vocabulary. But having spent the last several weeks with a Gryffindor, (oh Merlin, shoot me!) he'd learnt that Gryffindors, and particularly Potter, had the most annoying habit of sacrificing themselves to save the world. And they actually put their own interests aside, as well as their well-being and safety, for the greater good. What a load of absolute rubbish!

However, as Draco had spent way more time with a Gryffindor than he'd ever envisioned or ever wished for, to his utter horror, some of these feelings had rubbed off on him.

"Potter, you're not with your relatives, you're here with me at Professor Snape's house. You have to get yourself under control. My father can't know that you're here. We'll both be in danger."

If anything, this only made Harry more anxious. He tried to grab the door handle, in a desperate attempt to escape.

Draco grabbed Harry's hand and held it firmly.

"Potter _Please-_ calm down. My father mustn't discover that you're here. It would be disastrous."

The lump in Draco's throat only worsened when Potter only became more agitated. He pressed his ear against the door when he suddenly heard the front door slam.

Draco opened the door slightly.

A slice of light filtered in through the crack in the door.

Draco gingerly opened the door wider, and stepped out. He made his way towards the stairs and quietly crept down. The sigh of relief that escaped, was immediately replaced by a gnawing in the pit of his stomach at the realisation that the parlour below was empty, and that meant that Severus and his father had probably received a summons from the Dark Lord.

Every time Severus was called, Draco was overcome with apprehension. Although he did love his father, despite his harsh ways and volatile temper, he was more worried about Severus.

Draco wasn't naïve; he knew that Severus wasn't loyal to the Dark Lord; if truth be told, Draco himself had little desire to become a Death Eater. He didn't fool himself that he had a choice though. His father would not tolerate anything else.

Harry suddenly came to with the realisation that he'd made a complete fool of himself. Shame washed over him as he realised that he'd had a melt-down in front of Draco Malfoy. It was almost worse than spilling his deepest secrets in front of the whole class.

"Potter."

Harry looked up to see the blond crouch down.

"My father and Severus are gone, but I don't think it'd be a good idea for you to come down just yet. Just in case they decide to come back."

"Come, let's get you out of here," he said softly, reaching out a hand to pull Harry up.

All Harry could think of was that he almost preferred to stay in the broom cupboard, than to face Malfoy after making a total arse of himself.

"You go to our room. I rather fancy a spot of tea, and I daresay you could use some too."

Harry could feel the flush creep up his neck. Frankly, right now he could use a couple of Firewhiskeys—forget about the tea!

Harry lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He just couldn't believe that how he'd lost it there.

All the self-control and independence that he'd worked so hard to gain had all gone down the drain in one fell swoop.

In all the years that he'd lived with the Dursleys, Harry had guarded his secrets closely to his heart, but now all his dirty laundry was hanging out to dry. First in class and now with Malfoy. There was nothing left to hide, was there? He thought sadly.

"Here you go Potter," Draco said, as he carried in a tray with tea and sandwiches. Of course the sandwiches were not the everyday variety of sandwiches.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You cut off the crusts Malfoy?"

"Well of course Potter. Just because I have to be holed up in this shack, doesn't mean that I must act like a peasant," he sneered haughtily.

"Now, there's the same old Draco Malfoy that we all know and love."

Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah well, I like to think that there's still some of _me_ left." He raked his long fingers through his pale hair. "I don't know how to act any differently," he said softly.

"I'm not asking you to Malfoy. I've grown accustomed to your little…shall we say idiosyncrasies. You know…like you sorta get used to a wart," he teased lightly.

"Yeah well, I guess that you've kind of grown on me too Potter."

Harry spooned some sugar into his cup, and looked up at Draco.

"About what happened in there," he hesitated, "-I, well…that is to say, I-"

"I won't say a word," Draco finished his sentence.

"I've just made a total arse of myself Malfoy. Why are you passing up on the chance to use this against me with your Slytherin buddies?" he asked suspiciously.

Draco's shoulders slumped.

"Has nothing that happened in the past few weeks made any difference to you at all Potter?"

"I'm sorry Malfoy, but you've been a real arse to me since we came to Hogwarts. It's a little hard to forget it all, just because you've been half-decent to me for a couple of weeks."

"I know Potter. You think I don't know that I've treated you like crap for the past four years."

"Then why'd you do it? Because your daddy told you to?"

"Yes Potter I did. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I'm my father's little puppet?'

"So you're saying that if you're father hadn't told you to be an arse to me, you would have treated me like your best pal?" Harry scoffed at him.

"Of course not. You were a pain in your own right, and it had nothing to do with your connection to the Dark Lord. Correction—it _did_ have to do with your connection to the Dark Lord, but not in the way you think," he said hurriedly, when he saw Harry's disbelieving expression.

Draco jumped up and began pacing the room.

"You really were Saint Potter you know. You turned out to be this paragon of virtue; this bloody symbol of the light that could do no wrong. You turned out to be nothing like my parents and I thought that you would be. And it was Harry Potter this, and Harry Potter that. You could do no wrong in the eyes of the teachers; you got away with bloody murder. If I'd pulled half of the bloody stunts that you'd pulled over the years, I'd have been expelled. Of course running off at every turn on your half-baked Gryffindor stunts would have landed _me_ in the morgue, but _you_…you just seemed to bounce back from adversity like a cat with nine lives. It was bloody sickening!"

Sure…it didn't help that my father instructed me to get close to you when he found out that you were coming to Hogwarts. Of course at the time, we didn't know if you would replace the Dark Lord-"

"What?" Harry said sharply.

"C'mon, surely you realised that everyone on the Side of the Light was hailing you as the Saviour of the Wizarding World, while everyone on the side of the Dark was wondering how a mere baby defeated the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time. We thought that maybe you had some secret power that enabled you to defeat the Dark Lord, and would one day take his place."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You have got to be kidding!"

"I know that it sounds preposterous now, but believe me Potter, my father was determined that if you were to be more powerful than the Dark Lord as just a mere child, then he wanted to curry favour with you, cultivate your power, and possibly be the one to influence you and train you to take over the Wizarding World one day."

Harry snorted. "Your father is more of a wanker than I realised."

"I'm not disagreeing with you there."

Draco sighed. "Do you even realise how much trouble I got in, when my father found out how I not only failed to become your best mate and influence you to be sorted in Slytherin, but that I'd actually managed to push you further away, become best mates with a Weasley and a Mudblood and be sorted into bloody Gryffindor."

Harry jumped up angrily.

"Do not ever use that word again, especially about Hermione."

"Whoa. Calm down Potter. I'm just relating to you how my father viewed the whole situation."

"Just don't use that word again, alright? If you ever want us to be friends, or at least not enemies, just don't use that word again. That's not up for debate."

"I'm sorry okay. You just don't understand what it's like to be brought up the way I was."

"Sure I don't," Harry replied acerbically.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Draco said sheepishly. "I know that. I just—I guess that we are really more alike than both of us realised."

"Yeah well, I find that hard to believe Malfoy. You wear posh robes, spun with the finest fabrics from all over Europe, while I wear my cousin's hand-me-downs that are three sizes too big for me, you wear fancy polished boots, I wear trainers that are riddled with holes, and soak my feet when I step in a puddle, you wear fancy gold cufflinks on your ruffled shirt, made from the finest silk, _I _wear a ratty, stained tee-shirt that practically reaches my knees. You never have a hair out of place, _my_ hair looks like a bird has made its home in it, you eat the highest quality caviar, and drink the finest wines, I eat scraps from the garbage if I eat at all, and I'm lucky to steal a drink from the garden hose. You live in a House that has a bathroom that is bigger than my bedroom. Oh right, that was because my bedroom was a fucking broom closet for eleven years!"

Harry's hand flew to his mouth.

Harry really didn't know why he was so mortified anyway. Malfoy already knew that he had been stuffed in a broom closet like a bloody mop; _hell_-the whole school knew that he was not really the Saviour of the Wizarding World now. No, Harry Potter wasn't the great hero that everyone thought he was. He was just poor little Harry Potter, weak and puny and defenceless against his brute of a Muggle uncle. Hell, the great Harry Potter was brutalised by a mere Muggle. How the hell was Harry supposed to save the Wizarding World, when he couldn't even save _himself_?

Draco knelt down before Harry, who sat hunched over on his bed. "Is that why you lost it in there Potter? Because you thought you were in your broom closet again?" Draco asked softly.

Harry clenched his fists. "Yes…are you happy now?"

"No, I'm not happy at all," Draco whispered, more to himself than to Harry.

"Now you know every one of my secrets. I'm not this big hero; I'm not as brave or as strong as everyone thinks I am. I can't live up to that reputation, and to tell you the truth Malfoy. I don't want to anymore. I just want to be a normal kid. I just want to be Harry."

Harry wiped his sleeve over his eyes. He was horribly embarrassed as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Of all the people that he would have chosen to bear all his secrets and fears to, Draco Malfoy would have been his last choice. Not even Ron and Hermione had been privy to the details of his home-life.

"I have to disagree with you there Potter."

"What?"

"I disagree that you are not a hero."

"Have you been dipping into the Firewhiskey again? Of course I'm not a bloody hero. I'm just a pathetic carbon copy of a real hero. The poor Boy-Who-Lived who couldn't even defend himself against a Muggle. The Boy who is short and puny and wears rags, who lives in a cupboard and is treated like a House-Elf and punching bag by his relatives."

"Are you quite finished feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Fuck off Malfoy. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm simply stating the truth."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No offence, but you wouldn't know the truth if it hit you in the eyes."

Draco ducked when Harry hurled a pillow through the air.

"It's true Potter. Don't you see? You are even more of a hero," he said disgustedly, because of all the crap that you've been through, because of your poor beginnings and small stature and it's not because of your name either."

"Cut the crap Malfoy. I don't know what you hope to gain by this. Oh, I get it. You hope that I'll save your ass from old Voldie himself, or your arse-licking, son-of-a-bitch father."

Draco laughed. "Oh, you think that I'm going to get all mad because you're insulting my father? I've got news for you. I don't give a crap about my father, or about the Dark Lord for that matter. Everything you say about my father is true. Yeah, maybe I love him because he's my father, but trust me, I have no illusions that he's a good man, and I can't claim that I didn't always believe his crap about Pureblood being the best, and Mud-, uh…Muggles being inferior, but I've come to see things very differently recently."

Harry peered at him through narrowed eyes. "I still can't say I trust you, and I'm not sure what your game is, but I'm glad at least that you're seeing your father for who he really is. Now, about Voldemort-"

"Don't say his name," Draco hissed.

"Why not? It's only a name, and you're giving him more power than he deserves."

Draco breathed in deeply. "Fine. Voldemort," he said slowly. "Satisfied?"

"Immensely."

"Now, as I was saying, and listen carefully Potter, because if I'm telling you this, it's because it's true, and it's not easy for me to admit. Think about the way that my father is and what I've been brought up to believe about you. Despite all the hardships that you've endured, and despite the odds that have been stacked against you, you've prevailed against the Dark Lord. Doesn't that tell you something?"

Harry scooted up on the bed and lay back against the headboard. "Yeah, that I've been lucky."

"Luck?" Draco asked incredulously. "You think that it was luck that helped you defeat the Dark Lord, time and time again?"

"Oh, and what is your theory? That I have some special power that Voldemort doesn't have?|

"Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you a blithering idiot Potter? I actually thought that you had some brains in that overly-large head of yours."

"Go to hell Malfoy."

"Fine, you don't have to believe me, but the fact remains that no matter what dirty little secrets that you believe the world has discovered about you, no matter that everyone knows now what abusive Muggles your relatives are, or that you are human and get scared sometimes, it will only strengthen their respect for you, as—as it has me," he said quietly.

Harry froze. "You respect me?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, and you know why?"

"No. Enlighten me," Harry said dryly.

"Hell, this isn't easy for me. It goes against everything that I've been brought up to believe."

"It's not always easy to stand up for what you believe in," Harry prodded the boy.

"No, and you know my father. Trust me-what you think that you know about my father, pales in comparison to what he is really capable of."

"When I first came here, you had a black eye," Harry asked quietly. "You implied that your father was responsible."

"Like I said, we are not so very different."

"Trade you for me, and your uncle for my father, and our lives could be carbon-copies."

"That bastard," Harry exclaimed indignantly.

"The only difference between your uncle and my father is that your uncle uses his fists to hurt you, and my father's weapon of choice is his wand." Draco snarled. "God forbid that he should bloody his hands."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.

"I don't want your pity Potter. I'm telling you all this so that you see that why you and are alike, it is also why we are so different."

"It doesn't sound like we're very different after all," Harry admitted grudgingly.

"Yes we are. Don't you see? Despite the horrible treatment by your relatives, despite what a shrimp you are-"

"Gee thanks," Harry mumbled. "At least I'm not a telephone pole on legs."

"A what?"

"A telephone. It's a gadget that you put in your ear, and you dial a number to reach-"

"Oh, you mean one of those telephony thingies that Severus uses sometimes."

"Yeah, a telephony thingy," Harry said acerbically. At Draco's look of confusion, he waved his hand. "Never mind. What a way to kill a joke."

"Anyway-" Draco continued, "-the point is, despite all the obstacles you've overcome in your life, despite the obstacles you face battling such a strong and powerful Dark Wizard, despite admittedly being scared shitless at times, you forge on headlong anyway. Of course, some would argue, Severus more specifically, that you exhibit typical Gryffindorish, idiotic and fool-hardy behaviour, but nevertheless, you are everything I'm not—brave and strong and you don't let adversity get in your way."

Draco went over to the window.

He looked out to the forest at the edge of the property on the right.

The sun was low now and pink and mauve tinged the darkening sky; dusk was approaching.

Draco got a knot in his stomach. Where was Severus? He should have been back by now. He tried not to think of what the consequences could be if his father, or the Dark Lord, discovered that Severus was not only encouraging Draco to turn against everything that the Dark Lord preached, and his father as well, but that he was protecting and sheltering the Vanguard of the Light—_The-Boy-Who-Lived_, Harry Potter himself.

"I _ad_—I admire the way that you fight for what you believe in, and the way that you stand up to the Dark Lord. I don't want to become a Death Eater like my father. I don't want to be a slave to the Dark Lord. I want to be my own person. I just don't know how to. When I told my father that I didn't want to serve the Dark Lord, and I refused to take the Dark Mark when I became of age, well he—well, that is how I got the black eye that you saw when you first came here."

"Malfoy—Draco, there are many different ways to show bravery. Hell, if you're serious about going against your father that in itself is a very brave thing to do."

"No, I'm not very brave. Not brave at all. Definitely not as brave as you."

"You've got to be kidding Malfoy. Your father is one scary Wizard, and for you to actually say no to him, takes loads of courage."

Harry began to chuckle. "Well, I see a pig flying just outside that window."

"What?"

"I mean…when the day comes that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are actually having a civilised conversation, and not only are not insulting one another but trading encouraging, sappy sentiments, then I know that pigs are flying!"

"You're mental, you know that Potter?"

"So I've been told."

"You know," Draco said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I know where Severus keeps his liquor hidden, and I know a neat little spell for disabling the wards too."

"Won't you get into trouble for using underage magic though? And if Snape finds out, we'll both be in trouble."

Harry chuckled. "Might be worth it to piss ole Snape off a bit though."

"Are you crazy? It's _never_ worth it to piss Severus off. Surely after four years at Hogwarts, you know that?"

Harry scowled. "Yeah, of course. What was I thinking? I definitely don't fancy the lecture or pickling rat spleens."

"Yeah, but I know how to do it without getting caught."

"Really? How? Cause I could sure use something stronger than this rat piss that you call tea."

Draco looked insulted. "Well, of course those who have little breeding lack the palette necessary to savour the finer foods and beverages in life," he said haughtily.

Harry jumped up off of the bed, using the mattress as a spring-board.

"C'mon Malfoy, let's go. I'm craving some adventure. I've just been too obedient since I've been here."

"You? You obedient, Potter?" Draco scoffed. "Somehow, the name Potter and obedient just don't belong in the same sentence."

"C'mon Malfoy," Harry cajoled. "Let's get us some Firewhiskey.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine Potter, but if we get caught, I'm blaming the whole thing on you."

Harry grinned. "That's a decent trade-off."

Draco shook his head. It was worth potentially having Severus ground them for the rest of the summer, just to see Potter smile.

"Wait a second Malfoy."

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, when he saw Potter crouching down under the bed, and stash something shiny into his trousers' pocket.

"It's a secret and if you ever tell a soul, I'll tell everyone at Hogwarts that you wear off-the-rack robes."

Draco gasped when he saw the silky, shiny material of Harry's invisibility cloak.

"An invisibility cloak?" he said in awe. "Where did you get this?" he said, jealously. "These are really rare."

"It was my dad's."

"So, this is how you got away with sneaking around the castle after curfew? Wait a minute-" Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "-Is this how you snuck into Hogsmeade and threw mud at me last year? I _knew_ that I saw your head floating in mid-air."

"I have no idea what you're talking about Malfoy."

Harry couldn't stop himself—he began chortling loudly. He turned red, he was laughing so loud.

"You should have seen your face Malfoy. I swear, you looked as white as a ghost." He slapped his hand on his leg. "Did you think that I was really a ghost?"

"It's not funny. You scared the crap out of me."

"And you think that's not funny?"

"Stuff it Potter."

XXXXX

"Are you sure that you know what you're doing Malfoy?"

Draco huffed. "Of course I do. I've done it a million times."

"And Snape never once noticed that his liquor tastes like Kool-aid?"

Draco scrunched up his pale eyebrows. "Kool-what?

"Kool-aid. Oh, never mind. It's a Muggle thing."

Harry tapped his foot impatiently as Draco waved his wand yet again and spewed yet another thousand word phrase in Latin, and finally Harry heard a click, and Draco triumphantly held up a large amber-coloured bottle of Firewhiskey.

"C'mon, let's go upstairs just in case Severus comes home," Draco said, as he whispered another spell that would lock the cabinet and ward it again. He hoped desperately that Severus wouldn't notice the shoddy job he'd done to make it appear that the cabinet door had not been tampered with.

Just as the boys were creeping up the stairs, and before they'd had a chance to slip the invisibility cloak over their heads, there was a loud crash behind them.

Both boys twirled around quickly, and their hearts dropped into their stomachs.

As the front door swung open, Severus fell forward and crashed to the floor in a pool of blood.


End file.
